The Courtesan's Bed by Sandrine O'Shea Page B

his chair, his arms resting on his knees, Clarridge grasped his glass so hard that his knuckles turned white. He stared down at the floor, obviously at a loss for words.
    Régine looked around her luxurious drawing room that smelled sweetly of hothouse flowers and beeswax furniture polish. “Feeling desperate and desolate, I contemplated ending it all. I was standing on London Bridge, ready to throw myself into the Thames, when a businessman driving home saw me and guessed my intention. He was very kind and solicitous, and cajoled me into returning to his townhouse. Even though he was a stranger, I went with him because I was tired, hungry and had nothing left to lose. He was very sweet and very compassionate, but also brutally candid about what my future life had in store for me, a young woman alone, without money or prospects.”
    Clarridge’s anguished gaze rose to her face. “So he offered to become your protector.”
    She nodded. “He was a kind, witty man, and pleasing to look at. Best of all, he wasn’t married, so I wouldn’t be committing adultery. Once I embarked down this particular road, I would never have marriage to some nice young man from a good family, or respectability. But what choice did I have?”
    A muscle twitched in Darius’s jaw.
    She smiled cynically. “Your father had already ruined me. I faced years of drudgery and an early death as a factory worker, or worse. And since I do have a weakness for clean, pretty clothes and financial security, I marched down the primrose path with my head held high. At first it was difficult, becoming intimate with a stranger, but we suited, and after a while I thought of the boudoir as a classroom where I received pleasurable lessons in the amatory arts. He was an even better teacher than your father, and I became a very apt pupil. My survival depended on it.”
    Her candid words brought an unexpected flush to Clarridge’s cheeks. “How did you come to be living in Paris?”
    â€œI acquired richer, more powerful protectors, one of whom took me to visit this lovely place. Here I met and befriended Odile de la Montaigne, who convinced me that the City of Light had much more to offer an enterprising young woman than London.” She drained her glass. “She was right.”
    â€œI’m so, so sorry,” he said softly. “My father’s deplorable, cowardly behavior makes me ashamed to be a Granger.”
    â€œYou didn’t control your father’s deplorable, cowardly behavior.” She smiled. “Now that I know you never received my letter at Oxford, I do regret thinking ill of you for so long, and I do apologize.”
    A wan smile touched his mouth. “Thank you for that.”
    She set down her empty glass and regarded him curiously. “So there you have my story, monsieur . Now it’s your turn to tell me why you’ve come to Paris.”
    â€œI—”
    A knock sounded on the drawing room door just before Molly opened it. “Forgive me, mademoiselle , but Monsieur de Groument from Cartier’s is here.”
    Régine smiled in childlike delight. Monsieur de Groument always appeared bearing quite beautiful and extravagant gifts. What bauble had Luc bought for her this time?
    She should’ve had Molly show the jeweler’s representative to another room, but she wanted to emphasize to Darius that she didn’t need his regrets or his pity, that she enjoyed the material rewards of the life of pleasure and vice she had chosen.
    â€œShow Monsieur de Groument in.” She excused herself to Darius and greeted the dapper Frenchman. “ Bonjour, monsieur. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
    He bowed over her hand and wished her good day. Then he reached into his valise and removed a flat box, which he proceeded to open with a flourish.
    Régine’s eyes widened when she saw the exquisite diamond and carved emerald necklace lying